It is above that you and I shall go;
Along the Milky Way you and I shall go;
Along the flower trail you and I shall go;
Picking flowers on our way you and I shall go.
translated by D. Demetracopoulou
It is above that you and I shall go;
Along the Milky Way you and I shall go;
Along the flower trail you and I shall go;
Picking flowers on our way you and I shall go.
translated by D. Demetracopoulou
Mine is a proud village, such as it is,
We are at our best when dancing.
translated by Hazel Parker Butler & Frances Densmore
I walked around the city, copying down signboards, the names of goods in stores, words overheard at bus stops. In movie theaters I scribbled blindly, in darkness, the words on the screen, and noted the slogans on banners carried by demonstrators in the streets. I approached India not through images, sounds, and smells, but through words; furthermore, words not of the indigenous Hindi, but of a foreign, imposed tongue, which by then had so fully taken root here that it was for me an indispensable key to this country, almost identical with it. I understood that every distinct geographic universe has its own mystery and that one can decipher it only by learning the local language. Without it, this universe will remain impenetrable and unknowable, even if one were to spend entire years in it. I noticed, too, the relationship between naming and being, because I realized upon my return to the hotel that in town I had seen only that which I was able to name: for example, I remembered the acacia tree, but not the tree standing next to it, whose name I did not know. I understood, in short, that the more words I knew, the richer, fuller, and more variegated would be the world that opened before me, and which I could capture.
smoke rising
filling the sky
from hundreds
of grills
the smell
of meat roasting
here
by the sea
Iftar
That wind, that wind
Shakes my tepee, shakes my tepee,
And sings a song for me
And sings a song for me.
translated by James Mooney
that you can’t
do what you can’t
do only what you can
do as long as you can
do it
A river moon only a few feet away, storm-lanterns
alight late in the second watch. . .Serene
flock of fists on sand–egrets asleep when
a fish leaps in the boat’s wake, shivering, cry.
translated by David Hinton
Don’t cut it to make a flute.
Don’t trim it for a fishing
Pole. When the grass and flowers
Are all gone, it will be beautiful
Under the falling snow flakes.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,
From there the wind comes and blows over the world,
By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,
From there the clouds come and rain falls over the world.
revised by Frances Densmore from an anonymous translator
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